


Not Exactly The South Of France

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: Anal Sex, Bastardisation of Smiths lyrics but it's ok cos Morrissey, Blowjobs, British Holidays, Camping, Canon Disabled Character, Dakin gets his own way entirely too much, Dakin is more of a sap than he would like to appear, Dakin is scared of spiders, Did I Mention Fluff, I have spent too many holidays in Scotland, I made it sexy for some reason i was worried i'd lost my pervy side there, I'm back with my lockdown brain, M/M, Mentions of Colin, but shhh he doesn't think anyone's noticed, entirely too much fluff for a lockdown piece, oh and sex, terrible outdoor showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: Where Dakin and Irwin try to make a romantic getaway out of a long wet weekend armed with only a tent, a brown volvo, a frog, some elderly lesbians and a cassette tape of The Smiths debut album
Relationships: Stuart Dakin/Tom Irwin
Comments: 19
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be another piece of lockdown crack but instead it's twisted itself into a long, fluffy, thing with a semblance of plot and also sex, and has twisted my brain into many shapes trying to figure it out.
> 
> Please if you like it do drop me some love or even better an idea of something to write cos my plot bunnies are thin on the ground xx

It started with Stu saying he’s never been on a proper holiday before.

Back when he was a kid they used to go and visit his grandparents at Morecambe, but other than that his parents were too busy to take him anywhere. They didn’t take time off to spend with him during the holidays like some of his friends’ parents, and that was fine. He never felt deprived, and besides, Scripps and Jimmy were within walking or cycling distance and he would entertain himself with one or the other of them during those childhood days of summer messing about in the park, making prank calls, playing football, and either discussing life, the universe, and everything, or chatting up girls (depending on which of them he chose to spend the day with).

Once or twice when they were young he and Lockwood caught the bus out to the Peak District National Park with their sleeping bags to spend a night under the stars, where they would build a fire and drink and get the bus back again in the morning.

At Oxford there were plenty of invitations to go skiing, or to someone’s dad’s vineyards in Italy, or hiking around Thailand, but he could never afford it, which was embarrassing, especially as he’d done an otherwise excellent job of fitting in with his new band of posh and entitled friends, but it never stung enough to make him give up his free time to work during term time.

Then there were weekends at country houses and weeks at people’s second homes, some of them on the continent even, but none without the pressure of meeting someone’s Mummy and Daddy. As these trips coincided, without fail, with him wondering how to end his relationship with his host, he doesn’t count these uncomfortable sojourns as holidays.

When he hears about it, for some reason Tom is horrified (despite Stuart’s assurances that he doesn’t feel he missed out, and that he knows he’ll be able to travel when he’s working), and so The Holiday is planned.

Not that Stuart is naive enough to believe it’s all about him.

Tom’s fucked up-ness is so textbook as to be boring: his father never gave him the approval he so desperately wanted, and (in spite of his efforts to prove otherwise) he hasn’t given up striving for it… blah blah. He was a bit of a mamma’s boy right up until she discovered he was gay and promptly shoved him right out of the nest, and their relationship hasn’t properly recovered even ten years on. Stu knows better than to say so, but Tom is a pre-Kinsey psychologist’s wet dream come true.

Tom has told him of his fond memories of going camping in the South of France with his parents and sister during the school summer holidays. Of sleeping beneath the stars and picnicking in the sunshine, making a fire in the evening and going wherever the mood takes them during the day. It’s clear he wants to recapture some of that happiness, and now he's got it into his head that Stu was deprived, there's a new light in his eyes as he recounts it again.

Stu promises to consider, and honestly, when he thinks it through properly, it doesn’t sound awful.


	2. Driving In Your (Best Mate's) Car...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys take a road trip and Dakin has a request.

Tom may be on the telly, but he’s new and the programme is educational, so the salary is hardly what one would call showbiz, and living in London is much more expensive than Sheffield. As for Stu, he’s working in a bar for the summer, so the South of France is out. But Tom is determined that they go away together, and now he’s thought about it the idea has grown on Stu – spending time alone together and away from the rest of their lives, regardless of location doesn’t sound like a bad thing, so he agrees and leaves everything in Tom's hands.

Hence their arrival in Scotland, in an unweildy dog-poo-brown Volvo borrowed of a friend of Tom’s.

There’s a brief struggle for control of the radio once they get on the road - Stu wants to listen to a new pirate station Scripps put him on to, which dies once they’re north of Aylesbury, and Tom wins the fight for Radio Three.

Stu rummages around the car’s compartments, partly through nosiness and partly because he hates the bloody symphony and he’s hoping to find some music somewhere.

“The glove compartment has brochures from the AA and the RAC, the National Trust, two copies of the highway code - my mistake, three, a manual for the radio, a brochure for turtle wax, torch - two torches, original manual for the car…. Not one single cassette. Whose granddad did you get it off?”

“It’s Colin’s”

Stu props his feet up on the dashboard reclines his seat. “…The one with the tweed jackets?”

“That’s him” Tom knocks his feet down in one smooth move as he changes gear. “Don’t for God’s sake scuff it, it’s his pride and joy”

“Pride and joy? He’s twenty-seven. This car is designed for a retired man in a hat”

“He wanted a family car, apparently”

“A family…as in two point four children?”

Tom nods.

“Does he even have a girlfriend?”

“Not currently, but he likes to be prepared”

Grinning, he shakes his head in disbelief. “Your mates are so weird”

“Don’t forget, I know plenty of yours”

“Can we put some music on?”

“Mahler is music, Stuart”

“Debateable. I just remembered I've got a tape in this jacket” He fishes the cassette out of his breast pocket and holds it under Tom's nose. 

“What is it?”

“The Smiths”

“Absolutely not”

He doesn’t relent until the radio is only able to pick up static or some strange folk singing, which doesn’t happen until they get to the Lakes.

*

Stu is enjoying a snooze in dappled sunlight when a map slaps him in the face. “Wake up. Find out where we are, we just passed a bridge”

“That should narrow it down” He mumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Don’t mind me, just been on the road for six hours while you snore in my ear”

“I don’t snore”

He smiles, watching Tom for a moment, his face tired yet full of concentration, against the backdrop of the rolling green hills.

“Teach me to drive?”

“What? The map, Stuart”

He forces his groggy brain to focus. “Er, ok, take the next junction. Oh look, we’re headed right past my mum and dad’s”

“What? We shouldn’t be!”

“Well, they’re on the other side of the Pennines, but still, not far”

“Jesus, don’t do that to me! Just tell me when I need to come off – don’t even think about answering that!”

“You underestimate me. Here, quickly, take this exit coming up”

“Hands off the wheel! Are you sure this is right? Stu? This is a services”

“Yep, that’s the one”

“Again? How much did you have to drink this morning?”

“Oh stop moaning. I thought you could use a break”

“Maybe you’re right”

“During which time, you can teach me some moves. Come on, how hard can it be? Then I can take over for a bit and you can nap”

“Nap? While an unlicensed, uninsured driver takes his first highly illegal practice session on the motorway, in a borrowed car? Restful”

“Despite being a big wet blanket, it’s a real turn on when you give me the sarcastic eyebrows”

“Anyone else and I’d assume they were taking the piss” He grumbles but can’t quite hide his pleased smile. “I need tea. Are you coming in?”

“I’m starting to think you don’t trust me”

Tom just laughs.

“How come you didn’t already learn?” Tom asks once they’re settled with a funny tasting pot of tea between them.

He shrugs. “Never seemed much point. Can’t afford a car, never needed to go that far, anyway there’s always a train”

“Sounds sensible, how come you're suddenly so keen?”

Stu pours his tea out, takes a sip and grimaces before heaping in sugar. Finally he answers, “I’d like to help you out. Besides, got to learn sometime. I won’t always be a poor student, and when the time comes I’ll want a sports car”

“Oh Jesus, you’re not even thirty and you’re planning your midlife crisis. Ok, if there’s somewhere suitable when we get there, you can have a go”

“’Have a go’” He scoffs. “Teach me properly, I’m not a kid”

“Ironic because you sound like one”

“And you sound like an old man but we both know otherwise. I let you have your pensions fund, let me have my sports car”


	3. On a Hillside Desolate (well under it, sort of)...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys arrive and there are discoveries and disasters, Tom gets a good laugh, and Stu isn't scared of spiders, why would you even think that??

The sun has gone down by the time they get to Glencoe but the mountains are bathed in pink light

“I understand the Victorian romanticism of the highlands now. _‘Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes_ _An awful thrill that softens into sighs;_ _Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes,_ _In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise’”_

A soft smile spreads over Tom’s face.

He knows it’s showing off but he loves how easily charmed Tom is at his ability (and that of his old classmates) to reel off poetry by memory, and yeah, maybe he learns stuff now just to elicit that smile.

“Burns?”

Stu tuts. “Walter Scott”

“That’s – oh”

“What?”

“Just a surprise that’s all, didn’t have you pegged as a Walter Scott fan”

“What, sentimentalist?”

“Something like that - cozy”

Stu turns his face to the window to hide the flush he feels rising up his neck. “To define ones reading by ‘taste’ is to limit ones experience”

Tom sets his mouth and nods “Very wise”

“Oh, fine, I needed it for a lecture, I was trying to argue something about colonialism taking place at home and I wanted a quote. I liked it, ok, I reread Rob Roy and Ivanhoe and I enjoyed it” He doesn’t mention that he revisitied it again last week in case he needed a quote, or that he has several more tucked away in his brain.

“Good for you”

He starts stretching out the kinks in his back as they finally park up at their campsite.

“You can stop smiling now, I’ve seen you reading Black Beauty”

It’s Tom’s turn to blush. “My mum used to read it to us”

“It was a bust anyway – my take on it, apparently it was trite. Not one of my more successful ventures in debate”

He’s still feeling a little guilty about the dig about Tom and his old copy of Black Beauty as they get out of the car, especially as he didn’t really catch Tom reading it, only flicking through the yellowed and dog eared pages once, when he was packing his books away to move.

He apologises by unloading all of the heavy equipment, and shooting Tom a sheepish smile - not grand as apologies go, but understood and accepted if Tom’s answering smile is anything to go on.

“Ooh Doctor Soaper! I hope you’re not after a glimpse of my tent pole” He cries in a lisping falsetto, dragging the large tent bag out of the boot.

Tom wants to appear above this crude silliness, Stu can tell, but he can’t hold back his laughter.

Encouraged, Stu keeps it up with a litany of ridiculous phrases, shrieking: “Do let me grab the big tool” and “I would never have guessed you were so good at hammering it in” and any other overworked euphemisms he can think of. He throws in the odd bad Barbara Windsor laugh for variety, and comes up with absurd reasons to bend over, impractically shoving his arse into the air like a pinup girl at every opportunity until Tom tells him to sit down quietly so he can concentrate. He considers it his contribution.

By the time the tent is pitched, and the equipment is unpacked Tom is weak from laughing and Stu chalks it up to one of camping’s failures that he can’t grab him and kiss him silly in the field. He compromises with arranging rocks to create a small seating area just outside their tent and breaking out the beer.

Taking a deep breath of clean air, he sits down and surveys the mountains all around them.

“This was a good idea” He holds his bottle out for a toast.

“Thank you” Tom smiles, clinking the necks together.

“Ow! Something’s biting me! Shit, gross, fucking insects!” Stu slaps at his face and neck frantically as the dark cloud of midges gathers around him. “Ew, bug juice! Ah! Bastard things!”

Tom shakes a small cloud out of his hair, but they seem to particularly like Stu.

“I think I have some spray in my bag. Hang on”

He heads into the tent, a few persistent ones following him, only to head back out shaking his head.

“It’s not there. I could have sworn I packed it.”

“Well, I’m being eaten a-fucking-live here”

“See if I put it in your bag by mistake”

“Why would you -? Oh, never mind”

Praying it’s in there, because the tent is now full of the bastard things, Stu tips his bag out onto the floor, only to find it’s suffered some sort of accident and something’s spilled inside. His hands come away slippery from his clothes

“Fuck! No no no no no!”

His exclamations bring Tom in from outside “What? What’s the matter?”

Not bothering to answer, he digs through his clothes and finds the culprit balled up right in the middle of his t-shirts. He holds the burst sachet of lube aloft, where it drips more of its greasy load down his wrist.

Tom has to sit on the ground he’s laughing so hard.

“It’s not funny, it’s all over my clothes!”

“Why? Why would you bring?” He gasps through his laughter “What did you think we’d be doing with it?”

“I thought I’d try using it instead of hair gel for a bit. What do you think?”

“Really? In a tent? In public?” Tom’s eyes grow enormously wide.

Stu scowls at him.

“I love how optimistic you are.” He wipes tears of laughter from his cheeks. “Ok, look we’ll start a smoky fire for the midges and you’ll have to rinse them in the shower block”

“Oh, fuck this. Being eaten by parasites and hand-washing lube out of clothes is not my idea of a good night. Pub?”

The ‘pub’ is actually the saloon bar of a local hotel. It smells oddly damp and the brown patterned carpet has an unpleasantly moist feeling underfoot. It’s full of muddy and bedraggled hitchhikers and straight couples from the campsite, but there’s beer and they’re serving chips so neither of them find cause to complain.

They share the walk back to camp with a handful of other people at chucking out time, occasionally making stilted conversation about the weather and the bugs.

He bumps against Tom’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s half eleven and we don’t need a torch, pretty amazing. I’ve never been this far north, but I assumed that being light at night time was reserved for the Arctic Circle.”

“It’s nearly as cold” He shivers, hands thrust into his pockets.

“Sometimes I forget how very southern you are, it’s fine. Do you reckon you can see the Northern Lights up here?”

“I think so”

“Think so? Do you mean you don’t know, Mr Irwin?”

“Fuck off”

Once they’re zipped into their shared sleeping bag it is rather romantic, and peaceful, if you don’t count the sounds of people trying to ‘quietly’ find their tents in the dark – which, unfortunately Stu does.

He lies awake for a while taking in the alien bird noises, and the sweet, wet smell of bog-grass. It’s – nice.

The same cannot be said of the morning, except for the part where he wakes early to the sunlight and the dawn chorus, with his nose buried in Tom’s hair and drifts back to sleep. That bit isn’t so bad. The rest is a fucking horror show.

The shower situation is barbaric enough to colour the entire day.

It drizzled through the night so the field is wet and slippery, and on his way over to the shower and toilet block, he slips and throws his arms out to save himself – he manages to remain upright, but in the process of saving himself he drops his clean clothes on a muddy patch of ground. He’d picked the least lube stained ones too.

The shower block itself has air whistling through the entrance, and spiders nesting in the high ceiling. It isn’t that he’s scared, but they lend a neglected and dirty feeling to the place that it really doesn’t need – and he’s paranoid about one dropping into his hair, so keeps an eye on them at all times.

The water only runs for two minutes, which he discovers while his hair is full of lather and then he has to stand shivering in the draught until it resets and he can rinse it out.

Shivering, he pulls muddy clothes over damp skin and grabs his wash bag. The ‘mirror’ is a sheet of stainless steel, which he supposes is practical in the sense that it won’t smash, but on the other hand it’s utter shit for seeing in, so he forgoes shaving and tries to style his hair largely through muscle memory. But the worst thing of all is the feeling that he’s brushing his teeth in what amounts to a glorified seaside toilet, surrounded by strangers and their revolting bathroom habits, where he can hear them going to the toilet mere feet away.

When he returns to their pitch, Tom is hovering by the stove, warming his hands on the small flame. He’s neat as ever, the only difference is he’s dressed in an oversized jumper that looks like it might have been hand knitted by someone. It completely smothers his skinny frame. He’s preparing coffee, and grins as he sees Stu approaching, for once not looking like a prematurely middle-aged man.

Throwing caution to the wind, Stu pecks him on the cheek.

“Spiky”

Stu rolls his eyes and takes a seat on his rock. “Did you never get round to reading ‘Being Gay for Beginners’? Men grow beards. Sorry, but there was no way I was risking a major artery by shaving in dented sheet metal. What’s for breakfast?”

Muttering about sheltered city boys, Tom heads into the tent for a moment and emerges with a small mirror.

“Genius!”

“No, Stu we don’t have time now” Tom protests as he snatches it.

“Yes, because the countryside will shut. I just need to sort my hair and get a bacon sandwich inside me”

Glancing over the top of the mirror for a second, he turns his best innocent look on Tom, which occasionally works - It doesn’t get him a cooked breakfast, but it does result in a smile and a packet of bacon and a loaf of bread hitting him in the shoulder.


	4. Let Them Come To You Just Like I Do (They Will Anyway)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What romantic break would be complete without buckets of water and some surprise guests?

Their hike up the glen doesn’t go well. The rain sets in after midday and they have to hitch a ride back before they even reach the museum. They end up sheltering back at the pub for the evening, huddled close to the fire to ward off a chill and learning about the highland clearances from a damp copy of the visitors book Tom bought from the campsite manager.

“Posh Victorians must have been masochists. Imagine having the choice of India, Africa, Australia and all of the continent and picking here for your holidays”

“Just fashion” Tom mutters, turning a soggy page.

“I suppose it has a reduced travel time and less risk of Dengue Fever, they should put that in the brochures, it’s good to have a unique selling point”

They arrive back at the campsite well before closing time, cold and weary and looking forward to an early night, for no reason other than warmth and sleep.

The eternally bright, pink and gold sky of yesterday is now dark and foreboding and the welcome sight of their tent around the next bank of shrubs fills Stu with pathetic gratitude.

Tom however, abruptly stops and changes direction, heading the other way across the site.

Stu catches his arm with a frown. Tom nods to their tent in answer to his silent question. It’s pretty close to them so when he glances back Stu can’t believe he didn’t notice Lockwood and Timms standing outside before.

“Er, what the fuck?”

“I’m going for a shower, please deal with whatever’s happening and bring me a towel and some dry clothes”

Stu lets him go with a pat on the shoulder and tries to steel himself against the weirdness.

“What the fuck?” He repeats as he draws close to his friends.

“Hey!” They’re holding a beer each, and Stu recognises the bottle opener in Timms’ hand as being out of his bag.

Lockwood slings an arm around his wet shoulder, bringing his wet clothes in greater contact with his skin. He winces.

“Why are you here?”

“You invited us” Timms grins, grabbing another beer out of the tent and handing it to Stu. “Have a drink”

“Wow, thanks. I didn’t invite you. How did you even know which tent was ours?”

Lockwood shrugs. “Easy, asked around”

“Yeah, soon as we described a tall skinny bloke and a short, smarmy fashion disaster they pointed us here straight away”

“Hilarious. I’m dressed better than either of you. Seriously, why did you come here?”

“You told us where you were staying!” Timms raises his eyebrows, waiting for Dakin to cotton on. “Was that? I mean… there’s no way that’s not an invite… is there?”

“Definitely an invite” Lockwood nods.

“Definitely not.”

“Ah well, a communications mix up, never mind, we’re here now. Drink that and then we’ll go to the pub?”

“I’ve just been – ah, fuck it, sure. I’ll just take Tom some stuff, hang on.”

“Hope we didn’t get you in trouble”

“Why would I be in trouble? You invited yourselves!”

Timms leans across and winks at him. “Sure we did.”

After hearing the explanation, Tom opts to stay in the shower for a few more of the criminally short bursts of water, but accepts his warm tartan pyjamas and towel happily. Stu returns alone to find his friends now inside his tent.

“He not joining us?” Timms asks, looking up from his seat on Stu’s bag.

“No, somehow the appearance of two dickheads hasn’t improved his holiday”

“You’d think he’d be grateful, with only you for company”

“Get out, I’m going to change”

“Fuck sake, Stu it’s pissing it down”

He pushes them outside while he changes into dry clothes, more for retribution at landing themselves in the middle of his and Tom’s holiday than out of a genuine desire for privacy, they’ve both seen it all anyway.

*****

The rain doesn’t let up and the sensation of wriggling out of his rain gear and into the tent in the dark, whilst remaining dry … well it’s both irritating and impossible.

Ducking down, Stu hurries into shelter and nearly steps straight onto a slug that’s slimed its way in. He refuses to touch it and has to go back out for a stick to flick it outside. The zip is stuck with mud and is a struggle to close, and then he has to fumble about in the torchlight for a damp towel to dry his wet hair and feet before he can get into bed.

All the while, Tom watches him silently above his book.

“Jesus you’re freezing!” He flinches back as Stu shimmies into the sleeping bag beside him.

“Funny that”

“I had a lovely night, made myself a hot chocolate, read for a bit, all snuggled up in here”

“I didn’t invite them, I promise.”

Tom turns off the torch and lies down beside him, carefully not touching his frozen feet.

“I believe you, it’s just… uncomfortable is all”

“They’re nice guys, honestly, they’re just insensitive”

“Like someone else I know”

He reaches inside the sleeping bag for Tom’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

“You said we’d be sleeping under the stars,” he murmurs, watching the raindrops make dark shapes on the shivering canvas above them.

“Your mates have brought the weather”

“It’s a bit… shit”

Beside him, Tom laughs. “Yeah. In fairness it was never like this in the Dordogne”

*****

Neither of them sleep well. It’s cold, and although the tent is dry inside, the damp atmosphere pervades, so that by the time the sun starts weakly colouring the sky they’re chilled to the bone.

Stu gives up and reaches for his watch at four.

“You awake?”

Tom grunts

“Don’t be annoyed, but I was thinking…”

“You want to pack up and head home?”

Stu grins. “Oh you of little faith, I’ve got a better idea”

They get up and pack away as quietly as possible. It’s still raining and the wind whips around, changing the direction of the rain every few minutes. Patches of the campsite are marshy and saturated with water, and they’re soaked to the bone by the time they’ve finished dismantling the tent.

Stu comes across a firework hidden underneath the groundsheet. “Idiots” He grins

Tom stares bug eyed before composing himself enough to fiddle with his glasses “One of could have been maimed!”

“Calm down, it’s just a laugh.” He stops to scoop up a small green frog that’s hopping between puddles by his feet. “You have to admit it’s funny. They would have waited until we weren’t inside – probably”

“I... do not understand you lot”

“Karma! Timms’ hates frogs, see it’s all good”

Tom’s nostrils flare. “I’m going to wait in the car”

He navigates his way to Lockwood and Timms’ tent by the familiar snores rising over noise of the wind.

The first bleary-eyed campers of the morning are sending dark glares in that direction, and more than one of them grins when Stu pauses to slip the little frog inside the tent.

Inside the car Tom has the heat all the way up, his glasses and the windscreen completely steamed up. He doesn’t acknowledge Stu when he gets in, except to shudder at the blast of cold air from the open door.

Holding his hands against the air vents, Stu gives in to a whole body shiver. “Warmth!” He groans “This is better than sex!”

“I know”

Once Tom and the car have both mostly defogged, Stu suggests getting away before the others wake up and try and follow them.

“Good thinking. Right, where am I going?”

“If you let me drive, it would be a surprise”

“No it wouldn’t – we would end up in a ditch and it would be extremely expected”

“Fine, spoil your surprise. We passed a B&B yesterday, maybe half an hour away. Let’s try there”

“Really? I’m not sure”

“Why?”

Tom shifts uncomfortably and fiddles with the mirror for a moment. Stu pokes him in the side.

“Ah!” He squirms away as Stu hits his ticklish spot “It’s just, what are we going to say? We’re two extremely different looking brothers who want to share a room?”

Stu laughs. “Oh my God! Is that what you’re worried about? You are assuming that people care far more than they really do, they won’t even think about it!”

“And if it’s full of enormous, bearded salmon fishing homophobes whose holiday would be spiced up by kicking my skull in?”

“Seriously?”

“Fine, _our_ skulls”

“You’re missing the point. If that’s the case then we won’t stay there, but it won’t be. It’s a B&B – my mum’s aunt runs one, and trust me, they don’t cater for fish smelling homophobes, with or without beards. They’re chintzy little nooks run by elderly lesbians who have no grandchildren to fuss over, and they deal with middle class couples who are on reasonably priced romantic weekends away.”

“I think perhaps it’s given you a very narrow view of the whole industry”

“Trust me, it’s an ideal vocation for the elderly Sapphic – they’ve got no grandchildren and they need someone to fuss over and get the good china out for. Their families judge them so they have to form maternal attachments to strangers.”

Tom gapes like a haddock. “You are unbelievable”

“But charming” He smiles, pushing The Smiths cassette back into the machine.

Tom groans.


	5. Take Me To The Haven Of Your Bed (and Breakfast)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dakin gets to prove a point and there is SexyStuff TM

Standing and shivering in the tropical hallway of the B&B, Tom mutters that he doesn’t actually care about homophobic salmon fishers now that he’s felt real warmth.

A matronly figure appears behind the desk and tuts sympathetically at their damp and muddy clothes.

“Two rooms is it, dears? Or would you like a twin?”

Tom says “er” which Stu counts as progress

“One please” He leans in across the counter and winks “With a double bed”

She giggles enthusiastically. “Room nine it is then” She hands over the key with a smile. “you boys get warm and dry and let us know if you need anything”

Stu smirks. “I told –“

“Don’t start” Tom interrupts as they trudge up the stairs, making damp marks on the soft, spotless carpet.

Their room has a wicker heart hanging on the outside of the door. It clatters against the wood as they unlock the door. Tom rolls his eyes so hard Stu wonders if it makes him dizzy.

“Come on, what do you say?”

“It went better than expected” Tom turns his back to unpack, but Stu’s not fooled, he can hear the reluctant smile in his voice.

“I don’t know why you doubted me, it’s like you’ve never heard of lesbians” He cranks the radiator setting all the way up and follows Tom’s lead in unpacking the wet things and draping them over the furniture to dry.

“Unlike you I actually know some lesbians, I haven’t just seen pictures of them in grubby magazines”

“Yeah, but the real ones are much less interesting”

“You are…” The reluctant smile is creeping up into a reluctant laugh.

“Charming? Sexy? Gorgeous?” Stu throws himself onto the bed and bounces a little.

“An arse, I was going to say”

“It’s nice. Soft, no squeaks” He runs a hand up one of the brass finials, thinking appraisingly of the bondage opportunities.

“Are you even listening?”

“Nope” He grabs Tom’s legs, tackling him onto the mattress and straddles his stomach. “You heard what the lady said: We need to get out of these wet clothes”

*****

“I love camping” Stu sighs from his position on Tom’s stomach.

“Me too” Tom grins, idly combing fingers through his hair.

The central heating and their rapidly drying clothes have made the room hot and humid. It’s a different world to their cold and uncomfortable morning. The occasional splatter of rain against the window outside serves to make their cocoon of sheets even more heavenly

“Bet you’re glad I thought to bring lube now, eh?”

“I was always glad, watching you trying not to cry over the dodgy stains on all your clothes was an experience I’d recommend”

They share a chuckle. Sweat and rainwater blend across his back underneath Tom’s trailing fingertips.

“I wonder what Jim and Tony are doing now”

“God you’re an awful person, you know that? I love it”

Not _I love you,_ although that’s been covered. Once, even though Tom was drunk and Stu isn’t sure if he remembers saying it. He really ought to get around to saying it back. He knows it would be reciprocated, but it would be the first time he’s ever said it to someone and meant it and it feels like a frighteningly big step.

_Baby steps_ , he tells himself and licks Tom’s belly button until he squirms away.

*****

Stu wakes early and very pleasantly. Moaning softly he slides a hand beneath the covers and into Tom’s hair. Sensing his wakefulness, Tom crawls back up the bed.

The weak pale sun breaking into the room makes his skin appear milk white and picks the out the flecks of green in his blue eyes.

Stu sees all this through a fog of drowsiness. He is largely concerned with Tom’s long fingers around his cock, occupying the place where his mouth had been mere seconds previously.

“Morning” Tom whispers, his smile cheeky. “Did you know you have the cutest double chin when you’re asleep?”

Stu huffs and shoves him - weak and clumsy and half asleep. “Can’t you go back to doing something useful with that mouth?”

Tom laughs against the skin of his shoulders where he is busily peppering kisses.

“Hang on. I need to pee”

Tom sprawls back against the pillows, stroking his half hard cock.

“Get the lube while you’re there.”

“OK”

“Condoms too, if you brought any”

“Any other requests, sir?’ Stu grumbles.

‘Yeah, hurry up”

He climbs on top of Tom when he gets back, only to find himself rolled back underneath a second later. A short and giddy tussle starts as Stu tickles him into submission and Tom tries to unseat him. It’s a close call, Tom is bigger but Stu works out, on the other hand he’d really rather lose anyway, it’s clear Tom has a plan. Nevertheless, there’s a lot to be said for nude wrestling, and he doesn't give in easily.

The bedclothes twist around and between them as they move, and by the time Tom is back on top they are thoroughly entangled in the top sheet.

“Idiot.” Stu huffs through his grin.

Tom shuts him up with a kiss, and finally drags his mouth over the sensitised skin of his chest and stomach and down, back down to his cock.

He wraps his legs over Tom’s shoulders, throws the lube down to him, and settles back with a sigh, hands behind his head. _This is the life_ he thinks.

Tom is gentle where he is still tender from the day before, teasing gently with his finger while he sucks on the head of his cock. All in all, it’s a pretty fucking fantastic start to the day - even if he does have to keep practically silent for fear of who might be in the next room.

He’s about to tell Tom that if he has any further plans he better fucking hurry up, when he finishes his gentle teasing and reaches for a condom. Stu makes to turn over but a hand on his shoulder stops him and Tom positions his legs.

“Someone’s fucking energetic this morning” Stu pretends to gripe.

“It’s the magic of the outdoors.” Tom smiles, dragging kisses across his neck.

Tom pushes into him easily and they strike up a gentle rhythm, the bed offering only the smallest of squeaks in tandem with their movement. It’s the most relaxed morning sex he’s has had in a long time.


	6. What Do We Get For Our Trouble And Pain? (Except for stubble burn ofc)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our B&B co-owner is a dark horse, Irwin is a twat and Dakin is sweet (but nobody tell him, you'll embarrass him), if a walking disaster.

“Do you reckon they’d mind if we stayed here all day?” Stu gazes out at the grey mist rolling over the hills.

“We didn’t drive all this way to spend all day in bed” Tom scolds, making no effort to move from his position spooned tightly behind him. “But five more minutes probably can’t hurt”

They’re late down, and the dining room is practically deserted. Stu recognises the lady from yesterday. If she’s annoyed by their tardiness she doesn’t show it but greets them cheerfully and shows them to a table decked out with a white cloth and floral china. Notepad in hand and pencil poised she quizzes them about their holiday instead of taking their order. After five minutes another woman, of a similar age, pops her head around the kitchen door.

“Enid, haven’t you got that breakfast order yet, dear?” Her tone is stern but resigned and no small bit fond, and he gets the impression that this is a conversation that takes place every morning.

“Coming, Agnes.”

“Not the first time she’s said that.” He whispers. Under the table Tom kicks him lightly in the shin.

“How long have you worked here?” Stu asks as she returns with his fry up and some toast for Tom, that he didn’t actually ask for.

“Oh, we set the place up about fifteen years ago now. We neither of us have managed to escape yet.” she chuckles.

He levels a told-you-so look across the table. Tom ducks his head behind his book, the tips of his ears turning red enough to match the livid patch of stubble rash on his chin.

Stu rubs his freshly shaved jaw regretfully.

“Are you sure you won’t have anything more, love? I could do you some eggs? Sausages? I’m sure he likes something to hang on to” She nudges Tom with her elbow and winks at Stu.

“Fine, anything” Tom squeaks.

“Lovely. Did you sleep well, dears?” She asks.

Tom’s eyes widen in shock and dart to the only other guest, a small man of about sixty.

“Like a log. Could I get some ketchup?” Stu asks, hoping to deflect her.

However, she’s a pro and hands him a small silver dish from the sideboard without breaking her flow.

“That bed’s ever so comfortable. We stayed in that room ourselves when we were waiting on a new mattress for our bed. I hope the room isn’t too gloomy for you, though. It’d be my favourite if it only got a bit more light in the mornings. Ooh, excuse me.”

She bustles off, having finally noticed her other customer.

“Say. Nothing.” Tom says, without glancing up.

“She’s right it is comfy” Stu sighs, waiting on the bed for Tom to finish brushing his teeth.

“She’s a monster” He calls from the bathroom.

“I like her”

“Because she’s basically you in granny form!”

They give up on outdoor activities and plan a day of visiting as many museums and indoor activities as they can.

“You don’t feel guilty about ditching your friends?” Tom asks, gnawing on his lip, once they’re on the road and heading past the campsite.

“Fuck no, its hilarious”

Tom smiles, reassured.

If they were going to meet with an accident, Stu would have been willing to put money on it happening while they were hiking in the mountains or the glen in the torrential rain the day before. But no, Tom slips on the wet stone steps of Eilean Donan, hitting his bad knee, and, despite his tight expression and drawn face, insists on proving how fine he is by continuing the tour without help.

Stu shouldn’t be surprised, his mobility comes high up the list of Tom's cardinal insecurities, in addition to how straight he’s able to appear, his education, intelligence, and his physical attractiveness in Stuart’s eyes.

He is surprised though, and more annoyed than he can justify even to himself. By the time they reach the car Tom looks ready to pass out and Stu is harbouring fantasies of throwing him into the loch.

He manages to hold his tongue until they turn onto a badly maintained country road and Tom can’t control a gasp of pain as the uneven road surface sends shocks through the car.

“The knee sore?”

“Why?” Tom grits out, his face white.

“Just look like you could use a break. As long as you’re sure you’re alright to drive”

“I’m not disabled, Stuart”

“Technically you are”

“Stu, please.”

“I just want to help, but if you’re sure” He mimes zipping his mouth closed.

Tom groans. “I’m going to regret this”

It goes ok at first. Stu is quick to gain confidence once he’s got the hang of the pedals. It’s going so well until a tractor rounds the next bend and Stu is forced to pull over on the narrow road.

It’s not a big accident - he simply overestimates how much space he has pulling over to tuck out of the way. The sum damage is a knocked off wing mirror, a bust tire, some scratches on the paintwork and a dent in the passenger door.

“How bad is it?”

“We can probably fix the mirror before Colin notices, I don’t think the paint will be cheap though, and the dent...” Tom winces.

“I’m really sorry”

“It’s my fault, I knew better than to let you”

That stings more than Stu would like to admit. He kicks idly at the damaged wheel.

“Do you know how to change a tire?”

“There’s probably a manual on that somewhere in there”

“Right well I’m going to teach you. It’s going to be largely practical for you because of my leg”

“You weren’t disabled a minute ago”

“Well, I am now. Must be the shock of simultaneously colliding with a wall and a pothole”

It’s pretty easy once Tom stops trying to demonstrate, which only serves the purpose of getting in the way and injuring himself further.

“How would you feel if I were to tell you that seeing you all oily and holding a wrench is very sexy?” Stu smirks as he takes over.

“If you wait until I’ve had a bath and some painkillers it would be very pleasing” He limps back to the driver’s side and they travel back to the B&B in silence.

Tom’s leg is bad enough that he needs help getting up the stairs to their room. Stu offers to run him a bath, but Tom brushes him off, insisting on doing it himself.

He doesn’t speak to Stu other than to accept a bottle of paracetamol.

Wracking his brain on how to make it up to him, Stu orders up a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of wine and packs their bags in readiness for their departure the next day.

He taps hesitantly on the bathroom door once the more reserved lady (Enid, was it? No that's Granny Stu. He mentally dubs this one Granny Tom) brings up the food.

“Tom? Can I come in?”

There’s a splash and a grunt that might mean he was asleep in the bath.

The bathroom is full of steam and Tom is flushed prawn-pink.

“Hey, thought you might not fancy going out for dinner. I’m really sorry about today. What can I do?” He balances the plate on the taps and hands a plastic cup full of wine to Tom.

He accepts the wine with a tight smile. “I’m fine, like I said it was my fault, I was the one in charge of the car”

“If you’re not angry then what? What’s the matter?”

“I feel like this holiday has been … less than enjoyable for you”

Stu perches on the side of the tub. “Why would you think that?”

“The rain? Your gatecrashing mates? The lack of outdoor sex? My bloody leg and now the car crash? I dunno Stu, take your pick”

“Well, I mean yeah, there was all that, but you’re leaving a few bits out: like my acquired skills in changing a tire, driving and map reading. I’ve visited a new country, been hiking, had some pretty amazing indoor sex, got to prank Tony with a live frog, and y’know… spending four days with just you has been pretty great. I’ve loved it”

Tom smiles up at him, slow and sweet. “Are you getting in this bath or not?”


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get ready to leave

Stu returns to their room, shakes the water from his jacket and hangs it by the radiator to dry.

“Car all packed. Back to sunny England tomorrow.”

Tom smiles at him, gratefully. “And I’ve phoned Colin and received my bollocking. As long as I get it fixed, he’s ok.”

“Excellent. You deserve a reward. Get undressed and lie down”

“I really don’t feel up for sex, Stu. Sorry.”

“Is that all you ever think about? Get your mind out of the gutter and lie down.”

Tom laughs and stretches out on the bed on his back, but doesn’t remove his robe.

“The other way round. And take your glasses off.”

“Um, Stuart, you are sure you know what I mean by ‘sex’?”

“Shut up” He laughs, shuffling across the mattress on his knees. “I’m surprised you were ever suited to teaching, you know. You’ve got such a filthy mind.”

He slides the soft material of Tom’s thick dressing gown from his shoulders and plants soft, closed mouth kisses on the freckly skin there.

“Off.”

Tom obeys. “It’s me with the dirty mind, right.” He mutters into the pillow.

Stu reaches for the bottle of baby oil from his wash bag and warms a little between his palms. Beneath him, Tom stirs at the noise it makes, trying to turn and look. Admittedly, it is pretty filthy sounding.

“What’s that?”

“Massage oil.”

“Why do you have it?”

“Dirty minded and not very bright”

“I’m not bright he says, after lube exploded all over his clothes”

His words are silenced by a groan as Stu sets up a rhythm rubbing the spasming muscles of his thigh. He keeps the pressure gentle, gradually working the whole of his injured leg and moving up towards his back until the moans subside and a soft snore indicates Tom is fast asleep.

Stu settles down beside him and pulls the duvet over them both. He watches Tom sleep for a while. He isn’t at his best, Stu’s certainly seen him better presented, less tired, less worried, more bright and sparkling and drop dead sexy and not dribbling on the pillow like he is now. Yet right now, he’s gorgeous, and as he lies drinking in the sight of him Stu just _knows_ it’s the right time.

Wary of waking him, but half hoping he does anyway, he reaches out and brushes the fringe off Tom’s forehead. “I love you”

“Mmmm love you too” Tom sighs as he turns over.

Stu still isn’t sure if he knows he said it, but twice probably means something. Maybe the third time he’ll even be conscious.

_Baby steps,_ Stu reminds himself.


End file.
